East

I have been embedded with U.S. Army in Paktya province, Afghanistan, near Pakistan, for the past week. Above is the view from a dusty humvee window.

(Sorry mom and dad. I didn't want you to worry.)

It took a few weeks for the embed to be approved--I went to Kabul not knowing if it would come through at all. But on Nov. 25, I received notice that the embed had been approved and that I was expected at Bagram Air Field the next afternoon.

From Bagram I was transported the same day to Salerno Foward Operating Base in Khost province, where I spent Thanksgiving and the following day waiting for a helicopter flight to FOB Herrera in Paktya province.

So first of all, I haven't been shot at. Just fyi. I haven't come across any IED's, haven't been at the FOB for any rockets or indirect fire. According to the soldiers here, things have calmed down considerably. September was bad. October was quieter but not great. By the time I arrived at the end of November, it was starting to get cold and hopefully the Taliban will go into hibernation or back to whatever country they came from for the winter.


Being able to talk to the soldiers who put their lives on the line everyday has opened my eyes. The soldiers joined the Army for different reasons: ROTC college scholarships, to find some direction in life, and because they believed in serving their country. After 8 months here in Afghanistan, most of the people I have talked to just want to go home. Many of them are on their second or third deployment. Most have been to Iraq for a year or more. They have experienced IED explosions, rocket fire, bullets and ambushes. They have all experienced the pain of losing one of their own.

Having said all that, they are quite honestly doing the best they can. They go out every day and try to keep each other safe, but with courage, toughness and dedication.


I have accompanied two different platoons on missions every day since I arrived. The Calvalry Scouts are part of the 1st Squadron, 61st Calvalry, 4th Brigade, 101st Airborne Division. They are trained to find and kill "the bad guys," as many of them put it. They travel in convoys of humvees. Above, a gunner looks out from the gun turret of a humvee.


A few days ago, one of the missions got sidetracked when one of the platoon leaders saw a group of men parked next to the FOB, taking photographs with a cell phone. They appeared to be taking photographs of the convoy of soldiers as they drove down the road next to the FOB. Photographs of certain aspects of the FOB or the soldiers could be a serious security risk.

When confronted, the group was uncooperative and acting suspicious. They refused to give up the cell phone. Then they took the battery out so the soldiers couldn't see what photographs had been taken. They said they were Afghans, but they could have been Pakistanis, as the border is a short drive.


The man in this photograph was the one with the cell phone. He was actually staring down the individual soldiers. Obviously not a friend of American forces. He was also on his way back to his madrassa, a religious school.

The cell phone was confiscated for a week, and the men were questioned, but other than that, they couldn't be detained further. Being suspicious is not enough. This situation just illustrates one of the many difficulties of this war: the enemy doesn't wear a uniform.


The other platoon that I've spent time with is the first platoon from the 549th Military Police Company. Traditionally, the military police were "combat support," meaning the infantry would be on the front lines and the MP's and many others were in the back, supporting their work in various ways.

In Iraq and Afghanistan, the Military Police have been moved to the front. They are conducting missions similar to the Cavalry Scouts. Both platoons that I have been following have conducted many "key leader engagements," meaning they visit a village, seek out the tribal/village elders and talk to them. They ask about the welfare of the villagers, security threats from Taliban and foreign fighters, education, health, basic necessities like food and water, power and road projects and voter registration. Often, they end the visit with a distribution of HA: humanitarian aid. Hearts and Minds missions. Above, the MP platoon leader, Sgt. First Class Hermes Acevedo, chats with elders in a village.


I accompanied the MP's to another village, one that hadn't seen many visitors at all. We were there for a long time and the villagers, especially the children, were interacting a lot with the soldiers.

The little girls were very camera shy and the first few times I approached them, they scattered in all directions. I don't think they were less curious about what was going on, but girls just don't get the opportunities for education, fun and outside contact that boys do. It's a cultural thing, but it really sucks. My opinion. The excuse is that they are "protecting" the women, but really it just comes across as selfish.

The girls and women here are incredibly beautiful, even when they are completely covered, because they dress in bright colors--red, green, hot pink, purple, orange. They decorate their scarves and dresses with little mirrors and sparkling jewels. They are the splashes of color in this land of brown and grey.


This particular village was very poor. They were very nice though, and welcomed the soldiers with smiles. At one time the village had a river nearby, which helped them irrigate their crops. But recently a neighboring village built a hydroelectric project and the river dried up.

When the soldiers starting unloading the humanitarian aid, the people immediately began fighting and grabbing at items. Unfortunately, the soldiers had to separate the people from the food, radios and toys until it was all unloaded.


Some of the soldiers occupied the crowds of curious children who gathered around to ask questions and make friends with them. Above, one of the children asks by pantomime if these soldiers are the ones with aircraft that fly overhead.


One little boy, an 8-year-old named Khan, was having trouble walking because he had stepped on a land mine a few days earlier. The platoon medic, PFC Colin Thon, cleaned and dressed the infected wound and told him how to clean it. Some villages are doing better than others and even have their own medical clinics. This village had no medical help nearby.


One of the times I approached the group of girls with my camera, one of the interpreters helped me out by saying something to the effect of: "She's not going to hurt you. Don't you want your picture taken?" A little while later I noticed them smiling and motioning me to come to them. Some of the girls still ran away, but a few stayed right in front of me and let me make some photographs. They loved seeing the pictures on the LCD screen on the back of the camera.

Then the boys came over and told the to go away and shook their fingers at me. It's like they don't want the girls to have any fun at all.


This is Spc. Ernie Ruiz, a gunner with the MP's right before a test fire of the rounds in the humvee gun turret.

The MP's and Scouts have been taking good care of me and watching out for my safety. I am thankful for all of them.


Afghanistan is actually a beautiful place in many ways. Too bad it's so messed up.

In Afghanistan

I arrived at Kabul International Airport Wednesday morning to take on a month or so of work here in Afghanistan. It has been a goal of mine to get here for the past several years. After over a month of planning, I finally made it--just in time for winter to start.

I have had the great fortune of finding a place to stay with a friend rent-free, for the moment. I am being careful. In Kabul these days that means I don't get to walk from place to place, and if I am out of the car, I am not alone and it's quick. The place where I am staying is guarded, as are many guesthouses, hotels and restaurants. Roadblocks, checkpoints and barricaded streets are part of life here. Power outages are common.

It's all taking some getting used to. Luckily, there is a cadre of supportive and experienced journalists and aid workers here who have been endless founts of information and assistance.

One of the most unexpected things for me is how much this place reminds me of Montana. It may be the cool mountain air or the thousands of stars filling the night sky. I sleep in my sleeping bag and use my flashlight frequently. My hiking boots are my preferred footwear. Whatever the reason, I am thankful to feel a connection to home.

More to come...

Back in the Mining City

Oh yeah, baby. I went home to Butte for five days.

It's kinda nice to go where people know you--where, for instance, the baggage handler greets you as you're getting off the plane. Also people stop at stoplights. That's kinda nice. My mom fixed all my favorite meals. My dad made sure he didn't have to travel for work that week. I also got to see my brother, aunt, grandma, and several very good friends.

I managed to fit the visit into my pre-fellowship travels. The Arthur F. Burns Fellowship starts July 22 with an orientation in Washington D.C. I also wanted to go to New York City to scope out some business-related stuff. Thus, while I was home, I actually worked a lot on my stinkin' portfolio in preparation for New York and D.C.

When I wasn't working though, I went to the National Folk Festival, which came to Butte for the first time. It was a weekend of great music and people came in from all over the West to attend. It was totally fun.


Nice boots.


Sigh. Dancing couples on the grass, guys dipping their partners.


For the uninitiated, that metal structure is a head frame. Beneath it is, or was, an underground mine. This head frame marks the Original Mine. Also the main stage for the Folk Festival.


Patrons at a nearby bar came out to see what all the fuss was about.


Dancers at the Silver Dollar Saloon, one of uptown Butte's many drinking establishments.


My brother Matt dances like crazy at the 'Dollar.


Look at these cool Ukrainian eggs! I found out how they make them at the Folk Festival. It's just like batik: they use wax to cover the places they don't want to dye. Purdy.


Me and Ms. Namrata Patel, taking in folk music and sunshine. She drove five hours from Spokane just to see little ole me! (She's not really a Spokanite. She's from Boston. Just fyi. ;) )


Who has prettier feet?


Nam makes fun of me and my hair-blowing-in-the-desert-wind picture.


My cousin Nate makes fun of himself.


My grandma, 92, tells me one of her stories. Isn't she sweet? My Aunt Mary drove her over from Bozeman just so they could see me. Thanks Aunt Mary.


My mom proofreads my portfolio. Thanks, Mom! Now everyone knows where I got my freckles...

Two days in Doha

My new Egyptian friend Rawya, pictured above, left an open invitation for me to visit her in Doha, Qatar. So when it was time for me to take a break from Cairo, I knew just where to go.

Thanks to Rawya the tour guide, I really enjoyed my first visit to the Arabian Peninsula. We went to the beach, the desert, the market, an obscenely giant shopping mall and the Al Jazeera television station headquarters where she works. Below are a few highlights from my mini-vacation:


The afternoon I arrived it was way too windy to venture very far away from the main road (those are not our tracks in the sand), but I have always held a fascination for the desert. It amazes me when I think about how people can adapt and survive in such a place.


In the case of the Gulf States, people found unimagined riches--oil and natural gas--beneath the sand. Qatar is now one of the richest nations in the world, with the ruling al-Thani family owning the rights to the natural gas and oil deposits.


After sunset.


One of my favorite stops on the Doha tour was the headquarters of Al Jazeera English, which is right next to the other Al Jazeera station, the Arabic-language version, the one that the Bush administration allegedly considered bombing in 2004. Rawya is a producer for the international television network. I actually think they're better than CNN--less likely to do the same old lame info-tainment reporting so typical of American television news. (Sorry to all my buddies in the American television news business, but...)


Buttons galore in the control room. Live television is pretty amazing. I always thought putting a newspaper together every single day was one of the great feats of modern man. Television is so much more immediate, publishing constantly throughout the day.


The makeup room. Who knew there were so many shades of foundation?


Doha also has an interesting market or souk. The Gulf is much more religiously and socially conservative than Egypt is. From an outsider's perspective, this means that women and men are more separate, and women are more likely to wear the niqab, or face covering. Above, folk musicians perform in a courtyard. Women sit and listen on the left, men over on the right and mixed groups sit at a restaurant in the foreground of the photograph.


Okay, so men really do wear the white robes and the checkered scarves in the Gulf. It's not just a stereotype. I don't know why that fascinates me, but it does. I walked through the men's side in a cute, short dress to get this picture, which was rather intimidating.


People did not harass me while I was in Qatar--a nice change from Cairo. The souk was clean and spacious, and the men relatively well-behaved.


Rawya and I of course had to go scarf shopping. Above, she tries to decide between green-and-black or green-and-white while I vainly include myself in the picture.


There were actually tons of women in the souk too, but they were more camera-shy. And I was on vacation!!! Leave me alone.

City Oasis

Cairo is without doubt the noisiest place I have ever lived. It has been described to me several times as the New York City of the Middle East, a comparison that seems to fit because of the noise, traffic, grime and chaos.

The relative peace on the Nile is surprising and welcome.

On Tuesday, a new photojournalist friend arranged a Nile felucca ride, my first since moving to Cairo. A felucca is an Egyptian sailboat, and you pay by the hour to sail around on the river. It is affordable and definitely one of life's little pleasures.

There was plenty of wind to fill the sails, and we spent an hour and a half touring around.

Yes that is the Four Seasons Hotel in the background. The feluccas are understandably popular with tourists.

Roadkill

I had to learn the Egyptian way to cross the street, an art which requires timing, concentration, depth perception and guts.

Crossing the street seems like a pretty basic thing, but in Cairo, a city of 20-25 million people, where cars, buses, trucks, donkey carts and motorcycles all traveling as fast as they can pack the roads, it's a whole new experience. Stoplights, crosswalks and blinkers are optional (and often ignored), as are the lane markings on the road. Cars sometimes go the wrong way down the street. Drivers may slow down for people on foot or swerve within inches. They rarely seem to stop.

Like driving in Egypt, crossing the street takes a little aggression. Egyptian pedestrians generally just step into traffic and start walking across, stopping between "lanes" when cars are coming too quickly. Hopping, running, walking, weaving and holding a hand up to slow cars may all be involved. It's actually easier to cross when traffic is really heavy and cars are moving slowly. I have the most trouble when traffic is only moderate, because people drive too fast.

Tourists just confuse Egyptian motorists. They get confused if you don't just GO already, like all the other pedestrians. I am actually much better at it now, but I have spent many an afternoon working up the nerve to cross a busy street, only to have every taxi slow down in front of me to see if I need a ride. So I finally GO already but I chicken out halfway through and just run across, saying, "Please don't hit me, please don't hit me."

Of course drivers don't intend to hit anyone with their cars, traffic just moves quickly here, and if you drive too slow, someone will surely pull around you, pull out in front of you or use some other aggressive tactic.

Luckily crossing the street Egyptian-style does get easier.

Desert flower

Today I went for a horseback ride around the Giza pyramids with a couple of friends. The horse pictured above is named Warda, which means "flower" in Arabic.

We rode from the stables to a hill in the desert where we stopped for shai (tea) and pictures. The day was overcast, cool and windy, but the ride back still felt exhilarating.

Some observations:
1. Even though we only saw the pyramids from a distance, I found them intriguing and mysterious. And huge.
2. The horses weren't in great health, but they ran like crazy.
3. My butt hurts.

I heart Arabic

Here's a photograph of Sami, one of my four Arabic teachers. He teaches the Modern Standard Arabic class on Monday and Wednesday.

The Egyptians have a saying: "Schweya, schweya." This means, roughly, "Little by little" and people seem to say it every time I tell them that I don't speak Arabic very well.

Arabic still makes my brain hurt, but it is getting better. Everyday I am learning new words, phrases and grammar and, little by little, I am getting more comfortable with this difficult language.

However, I still can't believe I'm writing right to left.

.this like everything reading imagine Just

Today Sami taught me how to write (and say) "photojournalist". It's the line of Arabic beginning in the lower right of this photo. It says "musauwira saHafyya".

Hold on tight

All I can say is, thank God I do not have to drive in Cairo.

I took my first (and definitely not my last) taxi to the opposite side of Cairo to register for Arabic classes at Kalimat Language and Cultural Center. Any time you are in a car, whether you are behind the wheel or not, it's an experience.

A few rules of the road:
1. Never mind that paint on the road--there are no lanes.
2. The key is to travel as fast as possible.
3. If there is room for your car, you can go there.
4. There are no stoplights. Sometimes a traffic cop will stand near a busy intersection, but don't count on him to protect you from the wrath of the road.
5. Don't forget to use your horn often.
6. Blinkers are optional.
7. Parking is a spectator sport.
8. Don't expect to find a seatbelt while seated in the back of a taxi.

Luckily, I made it to my destination, my cab driver was extremely nice despite the language barrier and he didn't try to increase the fare as i got out of the cab.

Now I just have to make it back.